


All Aboard the Wrestling Omnibus

by SophinaBlackwood



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Age Difference, Hurt/Comfort, Kayfabe Compliant, Kissing, M/M, Sadism, Violent Thoughts, otp prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 23:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6928939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophinaBlackwood/pseuds/SophinaBlackwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A selection of short WWE/wrestling pairing prompts for fun and because I can do what I want. Suggestions welcome!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dolphnev

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dolph/Neville Pizza Boy AU
> 
> “i made my special request for my pizza for them to send their cutest delivery person and you showed up and apologized that you were the only one delivering tonight and i blurted out that they still got my request right” au

“The hell?”

Dolph peered inside his fridge, pushing around old containers of leftovers and milk cartons. There was no beer left. At all. His lids halved with irritation. Someone had drunk through the entire night’s supply in barely a few hours. There were a few prime suspects. This is why he almost hadn’t invited Big Show.

Well someone (not him) was going to have to go get more beer.

“Hey, bro,” Zack peered into the kitchen, pausing to take a long sip from his can, “Doorbell.”

“And you can’t get it, why?” Dolph protested, closing the fridge and leaning on the kitchen counter.

“Not my house, bro.”

_Figures._

Dolph squeezed through the blistering party, avoiding rogue elbows and Fandango trying to drag him next to the sound system to dance. He wanted to get fucking plastered tonight and he’d barely eclipsed tipsy. It had been a horrendous week at work and throwing a party at his place ended up being more stress than it was worth.

“I am so fucking sober right now,” he muttered, jealously looking to Summer Rae as she slipped into Sasha Banks and the two broke into drunken giggles.

The doorbell rang again as Dolph reached the foyer (pausing only to tell Owens to stop playing with the little porcelain animals he got from his Mom for Christmas).

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to ring three billion ti--”

Dolph’s voice fizzled pathetically as he stared at the pizza boy. He was adorable. A small statured lad with pointy ears, anxiously tugging at the collar of the shirt he was squeezed into. It had the name ‘Tyler’ embroidered right onto the shirt’s breast under the pizza joint’s logo. Dolph supposed that was his name.

“I apologise,” the pizza boy said with a very thick accent. Some kind of British, maybe Irish? Really hot, whatever it was. Dolph felt his cheeks warm.

“You just brought me pizza, so you’re, like, officially my favourite person now. Don’t apologise,” Dolph chuckled, struggling to hide how flustered he was. He should start ordering pizza more often.

“No, erm, you made a special request for us to send our cutest delivery person and I was the only one deliverin’ tonight. So, yeah, sorry you got stuck with me.”

Dolph blinked. “Looks like you got the request right to me.”

The pizza boy’s eyes widened, quickly looking down to hide the significant shade of embarrassment under the brim of his snapback. Dolph craned his head back, expression squeezing. What a cute kid. Damnit.

“You wanna come in?” Dolph leaned on the door frame, flashing his best grin, ignoring the race of his heart.

The kid looked up exasperatedly, “I-I have to get back to work. I’ll get in trouble. Please, take your pizza.. A-And it will be $68.45.”

Dolph laughed lightly. It was worth a shot. He dug into his back pocket for his wallet and flipped it open. A hundred dollar note was passed to the pizza boy, who immediately dug into the fanny pack resting on his hip.

“No change needed,” Dolph smirked, waving a dismissive hand.

He blinked, staring at Benjamin Franklin’s face on the bill. “Really?” the kid flipped it over and pointed to a ten digit number neatly printed on a space in the design, “What’s this?”

Dolph winked. He’d been holding onto that note for a rainy day. Only it was a clear night with a near full moon casting a luminous glow on the side of the pizza boy’s cheek as he grinned in a radiant surprise. _Falling for the pizza boy _, Dolph sighed internally. Apparently he was living the script of a romcom.__

“Wow, thanks a bunch!”

“No worries, Tyler.”

“Huh?” he looked down to his shirt, “Oh, I’m not--”

“OH TYLER~!” Xavier bounced up to the entrance and put an arm around Dolph’s shoulder with a sparkling grin. His face fell at the sight of the pizza boy, “Wait, you’re not Tyler. Neville?! Where’s Tyler??” 

Neville’s expression vanished.

“I swear you guys never do my special requests. So, I suppose you didn’t make a unicorn in pepperoni either?” Xavier blabbed on as Dolph stared at him unbelievably.

Neville shoved the stack of pizzas into Dolph’s stunned hands, turned on his heel and walked back to his car with a choked, “Have a good night.”

They stood at the door silently until Xavier went to grab one of the pizza boxes. “Gimme, gimme, I’m halfway through a game with Kofi and he’s going to beat my ass if I don’t--”

Dolph kicked Xavier hard in the thigh.

“OW?! What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Dolph hissed, “Go get some more beers or no pizza for you.”

Xavier stood helplessly in the foyer as Dolph was mobbed by party guests at the end of the hallway, tearing apart the pizzas like a bunch of cavemen.


	2. JeriKO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin tends to Jericho's wounds from Extreme Rules. Hurt, comfort and confusion.

Dean is a menace, Jericho had said, nostrils flared and spit pooling in the corners of his mouth.

Kevin was inclined to agree.

A menace who was apparently now best friends with Sami Zayn, their chemistry undeniable and the audience lapping it up like idiots. At least _one_ good thing had come of it.

Still, Kevin was surprised that it was his hotel room who Jericho sought consolation the night following Extreme Rules. He sat cross-legged on the bed, slowly wiping a soft pad of topical anesthetic on Jericho’s back, who was laying face down beside him.

"It's beautiful," Kevin marvelled.

"What is?" Jericho muffled, face buried in his arms.

"Your back. All the holes." Some still sprouted little licks of blood. "Tiny, pretty red geysers."

"Are you on crack?"

“I want to do it to Sami,” Kevin’s voice trembled, tensing his thighs, “I want to split him open; red waterfall down his cheeks; stains on his hands, smearing the mat like a painter. It will be everywhere. He’ll be so frightened. He’ll think, ‘Kevin would never do this to me, he would never go this far’. But I’ll keep punching until my wraps peel off and all the blood mixes with his. When he finally believes, ‘Oh shit, he’s really going to do it. He is going to kill me’, that’s when I’ll stop.”

Jericho craned his to look behind him, brows indignant. “You should’ve been a poet,” he finally said after a long pause. 

A sudden hiss caused Kevin to snap to reality, realising he’d put too much pressure on the tack holes while lost in his gory fantasy. _Stupid Sami._

“I made you bleed,” Kevin said, feeling stupid. His hands were frantic as he disposed of the bloodied pad and tried to find where he left the bottle of cream. Jericho reached back to grasp his hand gently.

“It’s alright, Kev. Calm down.”

Kevin exhaled, forcing himself to relax. He hated the way he would get completely sidetracked once Sami was on his mind. He hated how Sami was like a parasite on his conscience. _Fuck Sami_. Kevin banished him out of his mind as best he could and focused on Chris. He leant down and carefully kissed where he’d aggravated the tack pricks.

Jericho hummed peacefully and relaxed again. Kevin was proud of himself for not losing his temper and throwing a chair through a window or something. It was easier when he focused on Jericho’s body. Wide and more undefined. Plush around the edges. There was a lot of weathering with scars and blemishes; the history of a career carved into his skin. Kevin liked that. Kind of like Sami’s body, just without all the freckles. _Argh, damnit!_

Jericho experimentally rolled onto his side and made a small whine as his elbows pressed against the white covers. "I'm going to bleed all over the goddamn bed," he sighed, "Can you patch me up?"

Kevin nodded and did so, smoothing down each gauze with meticulous care. Jericho made tiny sleepy noises in agreement. He was in the mercy of Kevin’s hypnotic touch, who relished in the power he held.

"Mmnh, gentle," Jericho murmured.

Kevin pinched his lips, “You sound surprised?”

“Because you’re Kevin Owens.”

When Kevin was finished covering Jericho’s back, arms and elbows with gauze, he lay back on the bed and exhaled from all the attention-giving. It was exhausting focusing on other people who were not--

_Nope. Go away. Fuck off._

Kevin blinked as Jericho slowly slinked on top of his belly. He hesitated to touch anywhere but found a comfortable hold around his love handles which hadn’t been marred by thumbtacks. Jericho took his lips softly. A little sluggishly. There was a distant sort of love to it. Like they both knew they would never work outside the confines of being on the road. An urgency to appreciate it while it lasted. Kevin giggled. Jericho paused, eyes widening.

"I can't feel my lips."

"Hm?"

"My lips are numb," Kevin grinned coyly.

"You got the anesthetic all over you," Jericho smirked, kissing him again, "Stupid idiot."


	3. WoodsBreeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first kiss prompt

"And tell E to stop calling me "MmmCharles"; my name is Tyler."

"Okay, Charles."

Tyler gave him the dirtiest stink-eye.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!"

Xavier and Tyler made a good team, whether in the ring or with controllers in hand. Out of all the people in the locker room, Xavier had least expected the narcissist supermodel to challenge his gaming bravado. Prince Pretty knew how to manoeuvre a joystick, for certain.

"We make a good team," Xavier said, an attempt to gain forgiveness.

"Obviously," Tyler sighed, flicking through the character selection on WWE 2K16 and pausing over Xavier Woods' name before continuing. "My gorgeousness does half the work before we even begin."

"You _are_ gorgeous," Xavier affirmed. There was a fluttering in his chest which seemed misplaced. Like he was being caught by his Ma while stealing a snack from the fridge past midnight. He thought nothing more of it.

Tyler took his gaze from the television for a moment, regarding Xavier curiously. "Oh?"

"Oh?"

"Your voice sounded weird just now."

That fluttering again. Xavier scratched at his hairline. "Did it?"

Tyler narrowed his gaze and Xavier felt his heartbeat pick up a few notches. That was strange. Xavier had never got these feelings around Tyler before. Maybe it was just because they were in his house, sitting on the edge of his bed together, under a new amount of scrutiny. Also Tyler looked really good dressed down in a v-neck and chino shorts. Xavier chewed the inside of his lip a little anxiously.

"Say it again."

"Say what?"

"Say it."

"We make a good team?"

"The other one."

Xavier paused, breath suddenly loud in his ears. "You're gorgeous."

Tyler's eyelids fluttered. "Again."

"You're beautiful." Xavier bravely tucked a stray piece of hair behind Tyler's ear. A spark of lust shot through him as Tyler leant into his touch.

"Again," Tyler said, voice stirring and soft. His teeth bit gently at the soft flesh of Xavier's palm.

_Shit_.

"You're fucking divine," Xavier praised, barely managing to utter the sentence through his disjointed breaths. Tyler said something but he couldn't hear through the pulse pounding in his ears. "You're _perfect_ ," he said, for good measure.

Then, Tyler's lips were wrapped around Xavier's and he barely could comprehend how or why. Instead of the controller, Xavier's hold snaked around Tyler's lower back, drawing them closer. He could taste Tyler's floral lip balm through his soft, tender, deliberate kiss. God, he was good. He must've had plenty of practice, or something. Xavier felt drunk and dizzy. Had he ever wanted this? He supposed he did.

They parted, both out of a need for air and Xavier became acutely aware of Tyler's hand on his thigh; Tyler's breath on his cheek; Tyler's hair unstuck from behind his ear; Tyler's aroma of whatever body butter he used that morning.

"Good," Tyler said simply.

All Xavier could do was look back at him lamely.

"I've wanted to do that for a while."

Xavier's eyes widened. "But I'm just.. a geek and you're, like, the most attractive person I've ever met." He sounded so stupid in his own ears. He knew he had game but when it came to Tyler it's like it all fucked off and took a vacation to Hyrule instead.

"Well, duh," Tyler said, hand gentle on Xavier's jaw as he pulled him in for another kiss. "That's why we make a good team."


	4. Tyeler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyler Breeze is a better kisser than Tye Dillinger and he's going to prove it.

Tyler hated this time of year.

Winter, Christmas and Chris Jericho’s annual Canadians-Only End-of-Year Blowout.

Tyler really didn’t want to be there but he was required to make an appearance thanks to his agent. Usually not one to touch the demon drink (he hated a foggy head), he sipped on a vodka lime soda to try soothe the excruciating atmosphere. A patriotic red and white theme was flooded throughout Jericho’s gregarious mansion, with a dozen different variations of poutine to nibble on, maple syrup flavoured lollipops and a rumoured appearance by the Prime Minister (highly unlikely). Tyler had already lost count of the amount of times he’d heard the word ‘sorry’ in his peripheral hearing. Canadians were the worst.

If Tyler could describe them in a word they’d be...

They’d be...

**xave baby whats the word when people are like.. ugh**

**Platitudinal?**

“Platitudinal. Good word, Tyler,” he nodded to himself, slipping his phone back into his fluffy jacket pocket. He sucked at his straw, allowing himself to enjoy the bitterness of the drink.

“What’s platitudinal?”

Tyler glanced to his left and his eyes nearly rolled out of his head. He would’ve been happy if he never had to see that number-elitist scum Tye Dillinger ever again. But, of course, here he had to be at this stupid party. At least he was wearing a suit, which Tyler begrudgingly respected. Canadians usually had the _worst_ taste in dress.

“I bet you don’t even know what _plad-ee-unial_ is,” Tyler said.

“Oh Breeze, you haven’t changed, have you?” Tye laughed sweetly, in that patronising way. Tyler’s blood boiled. “Who taught you that word? Woods?”

“No,” Tyler scoffed, “I learned it myself. I know _all_ the words.”

“Sure,” Tye said, uncharacteristically waving the talking point off before he could gloat about his own _perfect_ vocabulary. “I wanted to ask your opinion on something, man.”

Opinions? Sounded like a trap.

“About?”

“Eva Marie and I are trying to figure out who the best kisser here is. She swears it’s Christian but I mean, come on, Edge would be the clear winner, don’t you think?”

“How would _you_ know how good Edge is?”

“Spin the bottle. At last year’s party, remember?”

“Ew. And here I thought I had successfully forgotten about that _un-gorgeous_ affair. Obviously, the best kisser in this room is me,” Tyler said boredly.

Tye raised a condescending brow. “Well if we’re including ourselves, you don’t really believe you’re better than myself? Tyler, I mean, _please_.”

“Um, excuse me?”

Tye smirked without saying anything. He didn’t need to say anything. He actually didn’t believe Tyler was the best kisser at the party!

Tyler downed the rest of his undignified red cup and threw it aside, approaching dangerously into Tye’s personal space. Why was he getting so riled up about this? It was the alcohol’s doing, obviously. He knew he didn’t need Tye’s validation. He was obviously the best kisser!

 

* * *

 

Prince Pretty’s perfume breath poured over Tye’s cheek in thick lashes. He didn’t want to admit how much an aggravated Tyler Breeze turned him on. How much it made his pulse beat like thunder in his own ears. Tyler Breeze was a very attractive man, after all; extremely talented, well dressed, looked the part. How could he possibly resist?

“Prove it,” Tye said.

Tyler blinked in the cutest way possible, the anger suddenly dissolving. He looked so confused! “What?”

“Kiss me. If you’re so damn good then prove it.”

Tyler barely reacted, like what Tye was asking was a goddamn chore. He just leaned in, taking Tye’s lips in his. The world wobbled a little. Tyler was surprisingly dominant, taking command before lapping his warm tongue around the end of Tye’s. The spiny feathers of Tyler’s jacket brushed across Tye’s manicured stubble, but he thankfully wasn’t ticklish. He tried his best to memorise every little nuance. Tye felt his fingers becoming clumsy with lust, so he cupped his hands together behind his back, just as Tyler’s ghostly teeth tugged across his bottom lip, ending the kiss, leaving tingles in its wake.

It was a good thing Tyler was so full of himself, because he was too busy sighing into the air and making sure every hair or his goatee hadn’t been disarranged to realise that Tye quite literally needed to catch his breath.

“Well?” Tyler said after a time. Tye straightened himself up, smoothing back his top knot, palms sweaty.

“Ten out of ten,” Tye purred.

“See, I _told_ you.” A rare proud smile graced Tyler’s lips. The exact same lips which had just been locked around Tye’s. “I’m not surprised. Edge has nothing on me. In fact, where is Eva Marie? I’d like to have a word with her about her outrageous opinions.”

Tye was only half able to hold back his snort. “She’s, um, around there,” he said, pointing off towards where Chris Jericho and Kevin Owens were threatening to put Justin Trudeau on the list for accidentally dropping some poutine gravy on Bobby Roode’s robe.

God bless him, Tyler was gullible. A pretty face, certainly, but not always with the sharpest brain-power to back it up. Maybe that’s why he hung around Xavier Woods so much.

As Tyler stalked off in the random direction that had been given to him, Tye couldn’t hold back laughter which made his sides hurt as equally as it warmed his heart.

Eva Marie was so obviously _not_ Canadian.


	5. Kendrick/Neville

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Those who tag together, stay together.'
> 
> Right?

"Oh! Shit! Neville, since when did you get your own dressing room?"

Neville looked over his shoulder, exhaled at the sight of Brian and went back to his brooding, hunched over the vanity.

"And, it's really dark in here. You know the light switch is just--"

" _Argh_!“

Brian lazily panicked upon realizing he'd turned on the bright beauty lights of the vanity, effectively blinding Neville. He mumbled to himself, fiddling for the correct light, turning the room into a rave disco.

"Forget the light!“ Neville yelled, nursing his eyes.

"Oh my god, did you do this, Neville?" Brian pointed to a couch which had a completely caved in middle, like someone had punched through the wooden framework. He sat down on it regardless, and looked faux guilty when something else snapped from under him.

"What do you want, Kendrick?“ Neville ignored the question, in that blunt way he was known for now.

"I just wanted to chat!“ Brian said. He winced then pulled out a nail from under his ass before tossing it in Neville's direction. It bounced off the vanity and hit the mirror with a small crack.

"You missed."

"Practice shot."

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to try out for your soccer team," Brian lied, extending a leg to kick a John Cena hat off the coffee table. It hit Neville in the thigh. He didn't even flinch.

"I don't have a football team," Neville said. "Look, I don't want you here, Kendrick. Get out."

"Ouch. Friend to friend, that hurts my feelings," Brian pouted.

"I _told_ you we're not friends."

"Oh, but we are! ' _Those who tag together, stay together._ ' I read it on my horoscope this morning, so it must be true. What are you, by the way? Scorpio? Aries? Oh no, Gemini, right? Yes, you're definitely a Gemini. Called it."

Neville approached, slamming both hands on the arms of the couch, leaning in dangerously. His forehead just scraped against Brian’s, who slow blinked, face melting into an amused smirk. “Answer my question, Kendrick.”

Brian licked his lips, then cupped Neville’s sharp jawline, closing the distance to kiss him. It was deliberately tender, if not predictably sloppy and it took Neville by surprise, who answered without thinking. When Neville's brain caught up, he shoved Brian back roughly.

“The ‘ell was that for?!” Neville gasped, a glimmer of humanity in his eyes.

“Because I like you,” Brian answered simply.

“Ho ho, oh yah! Do et again!”

Both Brian and Neville jerked their heads to look at the door, where Noam Dar was leaning against the frame, chewing loudly on a peach. He gave them a winning smile and a thumbs up.

“Fuck off, Noam,” said Neville.

Before departing, Noam held his hands up innocently, “Hoi now, don’t let me get in yer way, lads. Weit til' Foxy hears about this!”

“This is ridiculous,” Neville growled, shoving himself off Brian to a stand. He paused, meeting his eye as if he had something to say. Decidedly silent, he combed his hands through his mane of hair and stormed out.

“Love you too,” Brian called after him, rubbing his chest.


	6. Mustafa/Jack & Neville/Swann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of very odd pairings after the 03/21/17 episode of 205 Live.

Mustafa hadn’t stopped crying since he got back to his hotel after 205 Live. _My first singles main event in WWE,_ he thought, over and over. It was supposed to go so differently. He had been ready, but as soon as he extended his hand towards Neville to start the match… he was _scared_.

And Mustafa was ashamed of that.

Of course, lovely Jack had canceled his plans to go to a jazz bar with Rich to be with him instead. Jack was good like that.

“Why are you so upset?” Jack asked carefully, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You did so well. You know it’s no matter if you lose or win. The crowd hearts are in your favour now.”

“I know,” Mustafa moaned into his pillow. It was a nice gesture, but it wasn’t the point. It’s that he let the self-proclaimed, hateful “King” get in his head. Maybe if he hadn’t have been so terrified, he could have won the match. He came so close so many times!

Mustafa looked up when he felt Jack roll onto the mattress beside him. Jack’s expression was mostly unreadable but distantly sensitive and compassionate. Much more calm in comparison to how flushed and red-eyed Mustafa probably looked right now. Jack smiled with a tender hopelessness and his heart began to beat unevenly.

“Just take solace in the fact that you and I have each other, and when the illegitimate King of the _Criewser_ weights finally loses the title- probably to you- he will be completely alone.” Jack reached a hand out to smooth over Mustafa’s bare shoulder. His pale fingers made the skin tingle slightly.

Mustafa sighed and buried his head back into the pillow. That was just the problem.

He didn’t want anyone to be completely alone.

Not even Neville.

 

* * *

 

“You sure took yer sweet time.”

“Sorry, I was trying to lose Jack. Luckily Mustafa called him so he won’t hate me for ditching.”

Neville was leaning against the rental car in a mostly empty parking lot, under the annoying flicker of a streetlight. Sipping at a protein shake, he glanced up, then spat the liquid out in shock at Rich.

Rich paused mid-step, hand flying over his mouth. “Did you just spit-take?” he asked hopefully, “Like an actual, real spit-take?!”

“Well, when you’re wearin’… _that_ ,” Neville protested indignantly, looking the other man’s dapper attire up and down. “What.. what in the hell are you wearin’?!”

Rich posed with a smirk, brushing over his shoulders. “Jack picked it out for me. He thinks a tie and pocket square would complete the look. But I don’t know if I should get pink or green to match my gear. Maybe both? I like choices.”

Neville gulped the last of his shake and snapped the top of the bottle shut and tossed it inside the rolled down window. “Maybe just burn the entire thing,” he offered as Rich got closer. “You were fine as you were before.”

“What was that?” Rich asked softly, staring at Neville in a way that made his chest hurt.

“I said, you were fine as you--” Neville’s eyes widened and he trailed off quickly, realising what he had accidentally said. He regretted it immensely when he saw how chuffed Rich got, who was invading his personal space even more.

“And so, the teacher finally compliments the pupil,” Rich said in a sing-song voice, his face so close now their noses were almost touching. Neville refused to let Rich slip him up a second time, so he kept as still as possible (though his heart was beating wildly).

“I’m not your teacher, I am your king,” Neville growled back.

“Well, then... thanks.”

Rich closed the distance to kiss him sweetly. Their beards mingled as Neville mind combed over how impossibly soft Rich’s lips were. For just a moment, Neville felt a little less hatred in his heart. He even almost forgot how ridiculous Rich currently looked in his daft three-piece suit.

“... _King_ ,” the Outlandish one added, eyes half-lidded, mischievous but affectionate.

Neville sighed, brushing his long hair over his shoulder. He could always count on Rich to ruin a moment. Even so, Neville’s heart was soaring.

Irritating, _wonderful_ Rich.


End file.
